Why She Wears Red
by orangeflavor
Summary: Her reasons were too many and her words too few.


Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: Set after book five, disregards books six and seven. Post-Hogwarts, post-war, in my head.

Why She Wears Red

"_Her reasons were too many and her words too few."_

Harry had asked her once why she always wore red.

Ginny hadn't an answer for him, at least not one he could understand. So she cracked a smart joke, asking him if he was trying to subtly tell her it clashed with her hair. He had laughed, and when they were silent again he hadn't mentioned it after that, probably because he understood that some things were too complicated to explain. He seemed to understand that the most out of everyone.

It hadn't been a conscious decision really. One day she had woken up and pulled out that red sweater dress that Fred had given her five Christmases ago. She had joked that he had no taste at all if he thought matching her outfit with her hair was good color-coordination.

Three years after that Christmas the war with Voldemort had ended, with heavy costs on both sides. And yet, Harry had miraculously come out on top.

The magical world slowly began to recuperate, as the Order effectively weeded out any resistance stupid enough to stay and fight.

She had never felt so boundless as she did in those first few weeks. Just watching Harry and Ron as they ate full meals and slept full nights was the most liberating experience she had ever known.

Those days came to be known as the Restoration, and a little over two years later was the first day Ginny had pulled that dress from her closet. She had put in on one morning and when she finally felt it around her, never wanted to leave it.

After that, she unconsciously began buying and wearing more red. As much as she could. Her family and friends noticed the change but became accustomed to it quickly, never really questioning her about it.

If she were to really delve into the reasons for the color she'd be faced with all the truly real experiences she had ever faced.

She wore red because when she was five years old, sitting on her father's lap, learning how to read, she had asked what her daddy's favorite thing about her was. He had smiled behind his glasses and reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Your hair, honey. Red as the sunset."

She wore red because it was the color of her first broom, when Fred and George would tease her about a defective broom, fly around taunting her. And Ron would stand up completely red-faced and challenge them to a Quidditch game, which he lost of course, but earned him a kiss on the cheek from Ginny later that night.

She wore red because it was all she remembered from her first day of meeting Luna. She was sitting at the Gryffindor table during study hall, agonizing over the arithmancy equations she couldn't memorize. There was a gentle pressure to the seat next to her and she looked up to find huge, luminescent eyes blinking back at her and a piece of some red-colored sweet offered up to her. "Candy?" Luna had asked.

She wore red because it's the color she associates with the night she become a woman. She had held tightly to his shoulders, grasping him to her as the pain slowly ebbed away and she could feel the contours of his shoulders beneath her fingertips. She doesn't know how they had gotten to that point, just that the red was all she could feel for a long breathless moment.

She wore red because of the roses they had all laid before the grounds of Hogwarts, on that dewy, early morning when all the Order members had returned for a memorial service held for the dozen or so students killed in the attack. She felt like a horrible person for being relieved that she was out and graduated at the time, so she had laid roses in penance.

She wore red because it was the color of the lone candle they had all sat around in the dank and dark of Grimmauld place, huddled under the dining table as they celebrated another Christmas they were still alive. Fred, George, Luna, Neville, Remus, Tonks, Bill, Fleur, Seamus, herself, and even Dung. The dim light of that red candle illuminated all their faces, and the fact that they were all fearful for Harry, Hermione and Ron's first mission out there alone.

She wore red because it was the color of the tablecloth she was setting at the table in Grimmauld Place when Moody had burst through the door screaming bloody murder and all types of incomprehensible curses. When her and her mother had set him down upon one of the wooden chairs and applied a cloth to the open cut on his forehead, he had informed them of the ambush that cost the Order their first casualties.

She wore red for the fire that took the Burrow in the Death Eaters' surprise attack. She stood atop the hill overlooking it, Charlie desperately tugging on her arm for her to get moving, not sure whether the Death Eaters would return. She hadn't had time to grab any memories from the home before the heat was pressing in on her and forced her running out the door with her family in tow, red licking its way up the walls around her before she was out and away and weeping.

She wore red for the first blood she ever truly spilt. A wand was a luxury she had wanted desperately at the time, the Death Eater's hand wrapped around her neck, the familiar eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange glaring back at her. She had moments left to breath when she whisked her dagger out of its place on her waist and buried it in Bellatrix's throat. She had refused to carry any weapon but her wand after that.

She wore red because when Hermione died they called it a blaze of glory. Harry had never cried more in his entire existence, Ron had never been more silent. But when the tears had dried, there was a proud reverence anchored deep in all their hearts that kept them standing in the wake of Hermione's sacrifice. The first of the Remembered they had called her.

She wore red for Harry's blood-shot eyes as he limped over the crest of the hill, tripped and tumbled down into the grass. Ron and her had escaped the battle fray and sprinted for him, dropping beside him in seconds. They feared the worst, looked up expectantly to see Voldemort following over the hill but were brought back to Harry when he mumbled words she would remember for life.

"For Hermione."

He closed his eyes then, but a small, unwavering smile of victory stayed fixed beneath the blood and dirt and mar of his face. And they knew it was finally over.

She wore red because Avada Kedavra was green.

She wore red for remembrance, for being alive, for the passion in all those that died. She wore red for her father, and her mother, and her brothers. She wore red for Harry, for Hermione, for herself. For Bellatrix.

She seemed to gravitate toward red, or maybe it always found her.

When Harry next asked, Ginny would tell him that.


End file.
